On the first Friday of every month, Robert visited my father. Whenever he returned, he would remain silent for hours.
Once, I even overheard my father telling him on the phone:
“Remember our agreement. If my daughter ever finds out, she’ll never forgive either of us.”
When I asked what they were talking about, Robert said they were having financial problems.
At the time, I believed him. My father died eighteen years ago. I still remember one of the last things he said to me:
“Margaret, sometimes parents make terrible mistakes because they believe they’re protecting their children.”
I only understood the meaning of those words now. For our sixtieth wedding anniversary, Robert bought two bus tickets.
He said he wanted to take me somewhere beautiful, somewhere we’d never been before.
